The Haunting at Villa Resurreccion
When I stepped foot into Villa Resurreccion, the eerie silence was shattered by two resounding bangs that echoed through the abandoned corridors. The air was thick with an inexplicable chill, setting the scene like something out of a forgotten nightmare rather than a place of rest and leisure.
Darkness enveloped every corner, casting long, menacing shadows that seemed to move with a life of their own. I, now the unwelcome protagonist in this unsettling tale, braced myself for whatever awaited me in the depths of this forsaken resort.
Driven by curiosity and a growing sense of unease, I ventured deeper into the heart of the villa, seeking the origin of those unnerving sounds. The reception area stood empty, devoid of any signs of life or recent activity, save for the dust-covered furniture and faded wallpaper peeling off the walls.
“Excuse me, is there anyone here?” I called out, my voice bouncing off the walls and disappearing into the oppressive silence.
No response.
“Hello! We’re from Moonstar Media,” I persisted, hoping to elicit some form of acknowledgment from whoever might be lurking in the shadows.
“That was just a cat, don’t worry,” a gravelly voice behind me interjected, breaking the silence like a crack of thunder in a storm. Startled, I turned to see Mang Tadong, the caretaker of the villa, standing in the dim light, his weathered face bearing the weight of years spent in solitude.
His presence offered a strange comfort amidst the palpable tension. I knew him from our previous conversations — a voice on the other end of a phone line, now a figure emerging from the darkness.
“Please, come in, young ones,” Mang Tadong beckoned, his voice a mixture of weariness and cautious hospitality.
Mang Tadong, with his gray-streaked beard and weathered features, exuded an aura of wisdom and resignation. His eyes held stories untold, etched with the hardships of a life intertwined with this decaying relic of a once-vibrant resort.
He gestured towards a corner where a stray cat, its fur matted and eyes gleaming in the dim light, nibbled on stolen fish scraps. The metallic clang of pots and pans betrayed its innocent facade, reminding us that even in this desolate place, life persisted in its most unexpected forms.
As I watched the cat with a mixture of fascination and apprehension, I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to this place than met the eye — that beneath its crumbling facade lay secrets waiting to be unearthed, stories waiting to be told.
I found myself deeply unsettled, knowing that Muning wasn’t what we had come for at that resort. It wasn’t yet part of our documentary.
It had been three weeks since our field researcher first called me with rumors swirling about Villa Resurreccion. The entire town of San Jacinto buzzed with tales of spirits manifesting here, citing inexplicable phenomena as evidence. Driven by our media team’s fervent desire to gather compelling stories for our Undas Special, we promptly coordinated with Mang Tadong.
Joining me on this expedition were Malou, a seasoned paranormal expert, and Oscar, our steadfast cameraman who, despite his apprehension about spirits, maintained a composed demeanor.
Mang Tadong led us on a detailed tour of the resort grounds. He proudly showed us a colossal swimming pool, approximately fifty meters in length — a vestige reminiscent of an Olympic-sized facility. Upon first inspection, it was evident that the pool had languished unused for an extended period, its once-clear waters now transformed into a murky green hue, tainted by algae thriving on its surface. If my assumptions were correct, the pool owed its continued occupancy to rainwater alone.
“Mang Tadong, if I may inquire, what prompted you to close the resort?” I initiated our interview.
“1997, dear,” he responded, his voice tinged with a hint of nostalgia and sorrow.
His answer caught me off guard. It was the same year I was born — a stark realization that no one had inhabited this space for twenty-three long years.
“Here is where she often sat, playing in the water, dipping her feet,” Malou interjected, redirecting my focus.
Malou, gifted with a third eye from birth, possessed an uncanny ability to perceive what lay beyond the ordinary senses — a quality invaluable to our investigation.
“She suffered greatly,” Malou continued, her voice laden with empathy.
I sensed Oscar’s unease, yet he persisted with his filming. I observed him adjusting the camera nervously, knowing that every moment captured was critical. The show must go on.
“She’s a young girl seeking our help, but no one hears her,” Malou added solemnly.
“Her name is Maricar,” Mang Tadong explained, his tone heavy with sorrow.
“…a child who tragically lost her life in 1997, shortly after the resort’s opening when our facilities were far from what they are now. Maricar was playing one evening when she slipped and struck her head against a wall. I vividly recall the sight of her blood flowing towards the pool, turning its clear waters crimson. She cried out in pain as I approached her, but by the time the medics arrived, she had already passed away.”
Suddenly, Malou’s knees buckled, and she collapsed to the floor as if an invisible force had violently shoved her down.
“I can feel the oppressive energy here,” she gasped, her voice quivering. “It’s heavy with pain and anger. But it’s not from the child. There’s someone else inhabiting this resort.”
“Who? Can you see them?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper, my concern for her well-being mingling with a gnawing curiosity.
“In the chapel,” Malou said, her eyes wide with fear. “Someone is watching us. A man with a dark, malevolent face.”
Whatever Malou was perceiving, it was clear she sensed hostility toward our presence. Despite the unsettling revelation, we pressed on with the interview. I helped Malou to her feet, my arm firmly around her waist to steady her.
“Besides Maricar, were there other deaths here?” I asked Mang Tadong, hoping to piece together more of the tragic history. “What about Don Romualdo…?”
Mang Tadong’s face darkened at the mention of his former boss, a wealthy businessman who had constructed Villa Resurreccion. “Maricar’s parents were furious. They filed a lawsuit against him. An investigation revealed that our swimming pool was not fit to operate yet. Following the closure of the resort, Boss fell into addiction, plunged into depression, and eventually took his own life… there.”
He pointed towards an abandoned chapel. “He hung himself inside our chapel, in front of the altar, beneath the cross of Jesus Christ.”
His words hung heavy in the air, and I felt a chill run down my spine. The weight of the resort’s grim history was almost tangible.
“Since then, nothing good has happened here,” Mang Tadong continued, his voice somber. “No one has dared to enter the Villa. Everyone has their own stories. Our business died before it even had a chance to flourish.”
I could sense the sorrow and regret in his voice. The once-hopeful project had turned into a haunted ruin, a place shrouded in darkness and despair.
The air grew colder as we approached the chapel, its decrepit facade a stark reminder of the villa’s tragic past. The door creaked ominously as we pushed it open, revealing the dimly lit interior. Cobwebs draped the corners, and dust particles danced in the slivers of light that filtered through the broken stained glass windows.
Malou’s grip on my arm tightened as we stepped inside. Her eyes darted around as if searching for the malevolent presence she had sensed. Oscar followed closely behind, his camera rolling, capturing every eerie detail.
“There,” Malou whispered, pointing towards the altar. “That’s where he did it.”
I glanced at the spot she indicated, feeling a cold shiver run down my spine. The sight was eerie — a frayed rope still hanging from the rafters, swaying slightly in an unseen breeze.
Mang Tadong’s voice broke the silence. “After Don Romualdo’s death, the locals began to whisper about the villa being cursed. They said his restless spirit, along with those of the other unfortunate souls, roamed the grounds.”
As he spoke, I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were being watched. The air felt thick with unseen eyes, and every creak of the old chapel seemed amplified in the oppressive silence.
Suddenly, the temperature dropped sharply, and Malou gasped, her breath visible in the frigid air. “He’s here,” she said, her voice trembling. “He doesn’t want us here.”
Oscar’s camera started to flicker, the light on it dimming as if the energy in the room was draining its battery. I could see the fear in his eyes, but he continued to film, determined to document every moment.
“We need to leave,” Malou urged, her voice filled with urgency. “It’s not safe here.”
Reluctantly, we began to back out of the chapel, our steps hurried and cautious. As we exited, I couldn’t shake the feeling that we had disturbed something ancient and vengeful.
The once-promising Villa Resurreccion had become a place of nightmares, its tragic history woven into every decaying wall and silent corridor. As we left, I couldn’t help but wonder if we had been wise to uncover its dark secrets.
ONE WEEK LATER
Our entire creative team was engrossed in editing the footage for next week’s episode. Each correspondent had their own compelling story ready, and the anticipation was palpable. Our manager had promised that if the ratings for our show soared because of this episode, he would treat all of us to a trip to Boracay next month. The intensity of our preparation reflected our shared eagerness for that reward.
“Oscar, how’s the video editing going?” I asked, hoping for good news.
“Miss Sandra, there’s a problem. The scene we shot in the chapel isn’t moving.”
I furrowed my brows in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“I was sure it was working last week when I pieced together the first draft of our video,” he said, his voice tinged with frustration.
“How did this happen?” I demanded, grabbing the headphones from Oscar and watching the video on the computer.
I clicked the space bar. The video played. Initially, everything seemed fine.
“It seems to be working?” I said, perplexed.
On the screen, I saw Oscar walking through the chapel. The sound of his footsteps echoed clearly. He panned the camera to capture various angles of the chapel. Suddenly, something moved at the window.
A chill ran down my spine. I rewound the video to look again, doubting my own eyes.
The dark figure was still there.
“Oscar, can you slow down the video?”
“Sure, Miss Sandra.”
Oscar maneuvered the editing app and immediately slowed down the video. As we watched in slow motion, it became unmistakably clear. A headless man stood there, staring at us with intense anger.
Suddenly, Oscar’s computer unit overheated, and the circuit breaker in the office tripped. The room plunged into darkness, and we screamed in sheer terror.
As the darkness enveloped the room, our breaths came in short, panicked bursts. The reality of what we had captured on film, and the implications of Malou’s earlier revelations, settled heavily upon us.
“What do we do now?” Oscar asked, his voice trembling.
“We need to go back,” Malou said, her voice firm despite the fear evident in her eyes. “We need to find out what he wants.”
“Are you serious?” I asked, my voice barely concealing my own fear. “You saw what happened. That place is dangerous.”
“Exactly,” Malou replied. “And we need to understand why. For Maricar. For Don Romualdo. For everyone who lost their lives there.”
Our manager’s promise of a trip to Boracay seemed insignificant now. The reality of what we had encountered at Villa Resurreccion was far more pressing. As we huddled together in the dark office, we knew that our story was far from over.
A few days later, we found ourselves back at Villa Resurreccion. This time, we were not just there to document the supernatural; we were there to confront it.
The villa loomed ominously in the fading light of dusk. The air was thick with a sense of foreboding as we stepped inside. Every creak of the old building seemed louder, every shadow darker.
We headed straight for the chapel, the site of our previous encounter. As we approached, the temperature dropped sharply, and a cold sweat broke out on my forehead.
“We need to be careful,” Malou whispered, her eyes scanning the surroundings. “He’s here.”
Oscar’s camera was rolling again, capturing every moment. We moved cautiously, the eerie silence pressing in on us.
Suddenly, Malou stopped. “There,” she pointed, her voice a hushed whisper. “At the altar.”
We followed her gaze. The frayed rope still hung from the rafters, swaying slightly in an unseen breeze. The same spot where Don Romualdo had ended his life.
“Why are you here?” Malou called out, her voice steady. “What do you want from us?”
The air grew colder, and a low, guttural moan echoed through the chapel. We held our breath, waiting for a response.
For a moment, nothing happened. Then, the temperature plummeted further, and an unseen force pushed us back. We stumbled, but Malou held her ground.
“Tell us what you want!” she demanded, her voice rising above the chilling silence.
A figure materialized before us, headless and menacing. It pointed towards the old, decrepit swimming pool outside. A wave of cold dread washed over us.
“He’s showing us something,” Malou said, her voice trembling. “We need to go there.”
As we moved towards the pool, the figure followed us, its presence a constant reminder of the danger we were in. The once-green water now appeared darker, almost black.
“There’s something in the pool,” Malou said, peering into the depths.
Oscar adjusted his camera, capturing the scene. As we stared into the murky water, a shape began to emerge.
It was Maricar, her ghostly form reaching out to us, her eyes pleading.
“We’re here to help,” Malou said softly, tears streaming down her face.
The air around us seemed to hum with a strange energy. The headless figure stood at the edge of the pool, watching us closely.
“Tell us what you need,” Malou whispered, her voice breaking.
The water rippled, and Maricar’s form slowly faded, replaced by a sense of calm.
“It’s over,” Malou said, her voice barely audible. “For now.”
As we left Villa Resurreccion, the weight of what we had experienced hung heavy in the air. We had confronted the unknown, but the villa’s secrets were far from fully revealed.
Our story, much like the spirits of Villa Resurreccion, was unfinished. And as we drove away, we couldn’t help but wonder what awaited us in the shadows of the past, waiting to be discovered.
